


Shadowcats and Direwolves

by Dracones



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alliances, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Lots of It, And Mance, As wights, Diplomacy, Flints, Gen, I'll add more characters when they appear, Jon will be here, Manderlys, Northern Conspiracy, Not too much, Plotting, Post - Red Wedding, Reeds, They're human first., Valyrian Steel, You know which Jon, anyway, but a lot, joking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-05 01:43:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4160874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracones/pseuds/Dracones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alysanne Mormont sighed. "Hope is by nature intangible, and so often spat upon and cast aside by physical things. But Winterfell is the heart of the North and has been for thousands of years. It is not hope, but faith in the hearts of the gods and men of the North that tells me this; Winterfell shall stand tall for as long as winters chill the earth and babes cry in their beds. Should all else burn in fire and drown in blood, Winterfell shall remain. Should a winter come so cold that fires cannot be lit and bones break at a touch, Winterfell will lie heated and undiminished. Should lightning strike each tower thrice and rain turn the North to a pile of mud, Winterfell will watch over it still. And should a Bolton bastard and a Greyjoy traitor burn what little they can and tear down less, when we true Northerners return it shall still be our heart, as sure as ever, but we shall hold it twice as fast."</p><p>A Post-Red Wedding Fix-It similar to the idea of the Great Northern Conspiracy, but just a bit more active. Stay tuned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Escape of the Twins

**Author's Note:**

> I should warn you, this fic was begun quite a while ago. While it's not quite so long ago that my writing style has changed irrevocably during the process, I do believe that I am better now than I was then. I will update it here when I update it in it's original location on fanfiction.net, and, for now al least, every week or so here if I have not written another chapter in that period, so it should be pretty regular.
> 
> For a few weeks, at least. I will warn you, however, that I can't stick to schedules. Sorry.
> 
> Enjoy!

It had been a normal night of guard duty, until the first barrel of burning pitch was fired into the camp.

Four men had been guarding the Young Wolf's tent that night, one on each corner. Two, Glover men, had left to fetch the next shift not three minutes ago. At the first sign of danger, the other, an Umber, narrowed his eyes, drew his sword (which looked suspiciously like it had gone through at least three battles without cleaning or sharpening), and, despite Kennet's belated call, charged towards the Twins.

That left the Karstark man alone to question what exactly was going on. He knew little but the fact that the castle the King in the North had entered recently was firing on them, so, somehow, they had made enemies of Walder Frey.

Normally Kennet would laugh at the prospect of the fat man being a valid threat, but the burning tents not a hundred metres from him and the horsemen silhouetted behind them were all too close for that.

The army caught off guard, drinking - as most of the soldiers who hadn't drawn Guard duty would be, - left Kennet little room for delusion; this would be a massacre and a rout. And without the King, who was inside the Twins -

Which had turned against them.

King Robb, King in the North, King at the Trident, the Young Wolf, Lord Stark, Victor of a dozen battles (so it was told), was resoundingly and doubtlessly dead.

So there Kennet stood, stock still, guarding the possessions of a dead man. In the tent would be maps, plans, letters, correspondences; items maybe invaluable to the North and its' bannermen, who were like as not dying in droves.

He ripped the fabric door, tied shut, carelessly apart; who would search an already-searched tent? It would buy him time.

The tent was modest, but Kennet had heard as much previously. The main point of interest was the desk. He was fortunate that his father, in Karhold, had taught him the letters he'd learned himself at a young age and never forgotten; but Karhold was never further from his mind.

He grabbed as much as he could, already feeling a rush of heat he imagined to be akin to Dorne as the fire spread and was spread by the trebuchets. Letters, little notes, a bag to put them in, a parchment that had a shitload of signatures he wasn't bothered enough to decipher as well as a few seals, and finally, from under the bed and the pillow respectively, a short sword and a dagger.

Then he ran. The fire was almost all around, all but a quarter of his surroundings. He ran for the gap, praying to the gods for safety as he passed a man on the floor; drunk or dead, he didn't have the time to check.

He passed the flames, and only stopped another hundred feet past, at the edge of the camp of hastily erected tents that had sprawled outwards from the almost encircled feast-tents-turned-massacre-scenes.

He had a bag full of documents of undetermined value, a short sword, (the King's,) a dagger, (likewise,) his own longsword, spear, and knife, the clothes on his back and not much else.

He wore his spear strapped to his back, his sword on his right hip, as he was left-handed, the short-sword on his right, his knife was strapped to his left calf, something to come up with if he lost a weapon and rolled in evasion, and the dagger he had yet to find a place for; for now it was adorning his belt.

To get anywhere he'd need supplies, but the cooks' tents were last in the column; that meant they would have been close to the feast tents, and that area was nearly an inferno as well.

Kennet wouldn't shirk from filching from men likely dead, as he'd proven already; there were a few supplies of varying kinds in the tents next to him, as it turned out; at least there had been. The Kingsroad was not far; he would head North. Karhold was not such a distance away as it might be, he could get a ship from White Harbour, and he knew villages on the way where more supplies could be purchased. On the way, he could read the letters and choose his next course of action.

He turned his back on the fire and blood behind him, took his spear off his back and held it horizontal - so as not to be seen from afar - and set off. The night was dark, and with a moon; a good night for walking, for hiding, and for escaping with his life.

Kennet might not necessarily be a man of honor, but he was a man of prudence, who recognised a lost cause when he saw one. The fight for the North was not lost. The fight for the King in the North was.

* * *

The remainder of the night and most of the next day of travelling, hiding, and sleeping later, Kennet turned off the path at the side of a stream to fill his bottles, and in the fading light of day, settled down to read the letters and documents.

There were letters in the manner which great Lords would send, of alliances and treaties, of a potential peace with the Lannisters in exchange for extortionate hostage releases and conceeded territories that Kennet wasn't surprised had been rejected. There were messages, well worn-out from the movements of hands, detailing troop movements, scout reports, battle plans, and so on. And there was a single Royal Decree.

It was a parchment affixed with the seals of the great houses of the North and those sworn to Robb Stark, as well as the signings of each particular Lord. Most prominent was the Direwolf of Stark, at the top of the page.

It read thus;

_In the name of Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell, King in the North and King of the Trident, trueborn son of Eddard Stark, and with the full recognition and support of the Lords and houses whose seals are affixed, the man known as Jon Snow, natural-born son of Eddard Stark, is hereby legitimised and named the heir of the King in the North and the King of the Trident._

_Should Robb Stark, the King in the North and the King of the Trident, fall, in battle or sickness, in the absence of any male son by Queen Jeyne Westerling, Jon Stark, formerly Jon Snow, will be recognised and acknowledged by the Lords stated as their King._

_Any vows he has sworn to the contrary, whether to the Night's Watch or any other party, are hereby revoked by this Royal Decree._

_The mentioned party, Jon Stark, is hereby summoned to the side of the King in the North and the King of the Trident, Robb Stark._

_All parties sworn to the King in the North and the King of the Trident are to see that this decree is enforced, by any and all means necessary, preferably supplying the Night's Watch with men and food supplies as compensation for the summoning of Jon Stark from their most esteemed and recognised ranks._

From that point, the list of names of Lords and knights was compressed into a rather small section of the page, at the bottom, but Kennet could make out the names and titles of all the Lords who had travelled in their company from Riverrun, the names of Bolton and Karstark being glaringly absent.

The North could rally again, it seemed, not as strong as it had been before the Twins had played their hand and broke guest right, but strong enough to gain an independence at least. But likely all the Lords that had signed the parchment were dead, and their heirs maybe too, and their castellans and families might not hold the same opinion. They would be hard to sway to the cause, certainly; a show of strength and revenge against both the Boltons and the Ironborn would do it.

The question of how immediately sprang to Kennet's mind. Certainly he could not help the cause from outside of the North. If he could return there, however... Not all of the North had unified their troops to head south at Robb Stark's call. They had set off once the Umbers and the Karstarks had arrived, but the loyal mountain clans had not the time to unify and pool their strength, and their force of likely two to four thousand had been left.

However, there would be no ravens to small villages such as those of the clans. And they were amongst the northernmost Northerners, too, reportedly only the Mormonts and Umbers being close to that distance.

The Mormonts were a potential answer, yes, but only if a raven could be sent, and Kennet didn't happen to have one of those on him.

The Manderlys would have ravens, as would any other lord with a castle, admittedly, but White Harbour was close, and Kennet had travelled there before, with and without his father, on trading missions. He had contacts who could gain him an audience with Wyman Manderly, and he could plan more on the way.

But the problem remained of how to get there. Nothing he could use, to the best of Kennet's knowledge, would allow him past Moat Cailin; the only path to the North by foot. The Ironborn would never allow a Northman through.

Kennet sighed as he unfurled one last parchment, not the last of those he'd taken, but likely the last he could read before sunset, given it's size.

His eyes scanned the large map of Westeros, which ranged from the Wall to King's Landing, and various inscriptions and sketching caught his eye.

One arrow led down the Kingsroad past the Twins to the Green Fork, an arrow labelled "Bolton." An arrow had diverged from it at the Twins, leading to Riverrun through the Whispering Wood. It was labelled "Stark." Many more circled around the Westerlands, at locations Kennet recognised - and where he'd fought.

It was the Young Wolf's battle plans.

But one location had been circled that Kennet had never paid attention to, and had arrows leading to and from it. The arrow leading North of the Twins had a small branch off it to Seaguard, from Seaguard up the coast, and from the coast into the marshes. It was labelled "Stark Banners," and it led to Greywater Watch. From Greywater Watch, an arrow curled to meet the main arrow, and at that point, another section, labelled "Stark," curled out to flank Moat Cailin, while the main arrow headed up the causeway.

The Reeds of Greywater Watch had been allies of the North for centuries. They would not turn down a chance to save it, and they were his chance to get through.

Kennet rolled and tied the map once again, as the sun set slowly. He set off towards a copse, ready to roll out his blankets and bed down for the night in preparation for the journey North the next day. It was a long time since he'd been home, but he feared it would take him a bit longer yet.


	2. The Blackmyres of the Myrehill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first step in what is to be a very long journey.

It was three days, by foot, to the edge of the Marshes; and a weary three days at that. When Kennet's shoes had started squelching with each step he knew he was close, and when he crested the next ridge, reeds and bogs and trees were all he could see to either side of the road. His relief was palpable enough that he took the time to pitch his grey, much-repaired tent, and he looked out across the waters afterwards.

Now came the quandary of what exactly to do, in order to get the attention of a Crannogmen.

Shouting would do little to entice these little-seen, less-known people, nor to endear himself to them.

Walking into the swamp would likely give him some disease or get him killed.

He set about with the short sword, chopping as much as he could of the vegetation on a nearby rise down and apart. In a couple of hours he had a tired pair of arms and a large amount of wood.

There were about four hours until sunset, and, intending to let the fire burn through as much of the night as possible (with his help), he settled into his tent and checked through the small number of papers that remained to be read. However, none were of particular value, nor interest, and he settled to reading through Robb Stark's last Royal Decree, and thinking on the future.

Without the decree, the North had no heir apparent nor heir to rally around. Without it, so separate, the Lords of the North could fight off no cohesive threat, particularly with the Ironborn occupation to contend with and no strong army heading North.

He could not turn the war by this point, Kennet realised. Many losses had been sustained. Heirs to houses killed and captured. Lords killed or captured. The Northmen would have no desire for a war in the south any more. Their liegelords there were likely captured or dead. Their families and friends the same.

It would be far easier to unify for independence than to fight for revenge.

But they needed a Stark. And this Jon, of whom Kennet knew nothing, was the best chance they had.

* * *

A few hours had passed, and Kennet struck up the fire with his flint and steel. There was an hour of sunlight left, he guessed, but there would be no harm in allowing the Crannogmen to see smoke from the leafy, wet fuel, which would produce particularly dark, visible smoke. The kindling caught on the third try.

He blew on the dry moss, coaxed it to spread, and moved it into the small pile of twigs and more moss. First the moss caught, then the twigs, causing black smoke to rise.

He began building the fire up, with various larger sizes of wood, deal and living. In half an hour it was producing distinctive amounts of black smoke from quite a large pile, and he still had as much wood again to keep it going with, but he returned to the trees to cut as much wood as he could while it was still light.

Kennet returned with a decent amount about half an hour later, and sat in front of the fire, it's warmth on his back and the swamplands at the front.

Besides the crackling of the fire, there were several noises of the night that reached Kennet's ears. Firstly, some kind of croaking noise came up at regular intervals. The odd splash of a water-creature was audible, and he once heard the hoot of an owl and the _swoosh_ of it's wings overhead.

A smell of peat perfumed the air, but in the blackness ahead he could see none of the swampland he knew lay there, treacherous terrains and stagnant water and all. It was black as pitch.

It was an hour and a half since sunset when, for the first time, he heard the snapping of a twig to his side, a way away.

He kept his lulling head where it was, and kept his ear ready for more sounds, either breathing or a footstep.

After a small but tense period, he heard a relieved sigh, then a step. He determined it to be about a spear's lunge away, and turned his head sharply.

"I mean you no harm," he said as he twisted, to find the point of a spear about the length of his forearm away from his face, gleaming in the firelight. "I mean no harm but to those who wished harm upon the King in the North, for whom I fought."

"Wished?" was the only reply of the small man with the mud-covered face and the spear.

"It was four days past that Robb Stark's army halted at the Twins for the marriage of Edmure Tully. While the nobles and knights were feasted in the castle, the troops remained outside and drank and laughed with the Frey troops. I was guarding the Young Wolf's tent. The Twins fired catapults at our troops and their men set upon ours. A ruthless and savage trap, in which the Young Wolf doubtless died, along with countless men, common and noble."

"And you?" questioned the Crannogman.

"I knew the King was lost, and so I took many documents from his tent and supplies from others around me and fled, hoping to make a difference to what remains of the war effort."

"How?"

"Take me to Lord Reed of Greywater Watch. There is a Royal Decree in my tent which must pass the Neck if the North is to unify again."

The Crannogman considered, tilting his head. "Blindfold," he finally said, lowering his spear to the side.

Kennet nodded, but as he did so, he felt a hit to the back of his head.

He felt someone catch him, and felt very little after that.

* * *

He awoke in a splash of cold water over his face, drenching his middle-length hair and irritating him. He sat sharply, gasping, blinking, and snapping his head from side to side. It was a few seconds before he began to properly notice his surroundings, and they surprised him somewhat.

He was not in a cell, but in a small, dark room, sitting on a chair. Two people sat opposite him, one the man he'd spoken to earlier, one a slightly taller man who, to Kennet's surprise, wore a sheathed sword. This man had a pale face, a thin nose, a thick black beard, and long matted hair.

Another man was leaving, bucket in hand.

"Where am I?" Kennet inquired. "Is this Greywater Watch?" As he said this he glanced to the man, presumably a hunter or patroller of some kind, who'd said "blindfold" before Kennet fell unconscious.

"No," the other man said. "You sit in the keep of House Blackmyre, mine own House, in which you are a guest. This is The Myrehill."

"I thank you for your hospitality, Lord Blackmyre." Kennet had little else to say; he would not offend the man by asking questions of him in his own home.

"You say you have news of the war. Of the death of the Young Stark at the hands of the Freys."

"Yes, my lord. I believe you have heard what I have to say on the matter."

"And I have read your documents, too. They are what convinced me you were no liar."

"How so?" Kennet inquired.

"No enemy of the Starks would allow such a valuable piece of documentation out of their hands." The Crannogman picked the scroll from it's unnoticed position next to his chair and handed it back. "I have made an adjustment. I hope you do not mind."

Kennet frowned and glanced down. It all seemed the same. No words added or removed from the main text.

"Check the bottom," said the Lord of the Myrehill. Inscribed near the bottom was the name "Lord Darion Blackmyre," and stamped next to it was the Blackmyre crest, a crossed sword and spear.

"I thank you for your support of the rightful King, Lord Darion," Kennet said. Darion Blackmyre nodded. "However, I needs must-"

"Cross the Neck."

"Indeed."

"I will have a man escort you to Greywater Watch. It is a day's travel away by foot and half that by pontoon. From there, Lord Howland can sign that paper on behalf of the rest of the Lords of the Neck, as well as provide you with passage through the swamp and perhaps beyond."

"All the help of the Lords of the Neck is most graciously appreciated, Lord Darion."

"Thank you, my friend," the small man replied, "though I do not know your name."

"My name is Kennet, my lord."

"Kennet..." Lord Darion mused. "You wouldn't happen to be from around Queenscrown, would you?"

"No, my lord."

"Your father, then, or your mother?"

"I have never met my mother, and I know not from whence my father hails."

Lord Darion studied his face for a while, before shrugging. "You remind me of a man I once drew swords alongside, is all."

"It struck me as curious, my lord, that you do hold a sword rather than a spear, as I believe most Crannogmen prefer. Would it perhaps be that which is on your seal?"

"Indeed," Lord Darion smiled. "House Blackmyre holds one of only two Valyrian Steel blades in the Neck. This is Blackedge," he declared, drawing it carefully from the sheath.

The ripples in the steel glinted in the faint light. The blade did indeed have a darker tint to it. It was a shortsword, that much was plain, and it was clearly deadly.

"Incredible," Kennet said, reverently.

"It is a treasure. House Quagg would tell you that their Rippletorn is the keenest blade in the Neck, but they would tell you false. Theirs has a keen edge - nothing holds an edge like Valyrian Steel - but it is too long. It nearly matches the Stark blade for size, it is unbalanced; and it glistens. One cannot conceal it for a second." Lord Darion caressed his steel, almost lovingly for a few seconds, before sheathing it. "But I digress. I trust you enjoyed your sleep on the way here. You will not be blindfolded in such a way on the way to Greywater Watch, I can assure you of that."

"I appreciate your kindness, Lord Darion. That particular blindfold was rather uncomfortable."

Darion Blackmyre chuckled. "You will find we were kind enough to bring along all your supplies and gear. We have also provided water for the journey, replaced your spear with one far sturdier and more resilient, and put the documents in a waterproof lizard-lion skin sack, all of which you may keep."

"Many thanks, my lord."

"If you restore a King to the North, it is I who shall have to thank you many times as much, as both a Northman and the Lord of the southernmost house of the Neck. Spare your thanks."

* * *

A short while later, Kennet, and the Crannogmen who'd found him, Calwyn and Ulmerr, set out towards Greywater Watch on a shallow pontoon. Lord Darion , his wife, and his three young children, two girls; Layra, of less than twelve and Katryn, of less than ten, and a boy; Darryn, of less than seven, bade them farewell and safe journey across the Neck. Katryn bore a thin, fabric token, on which the dark spear and sword on a grey background of House Blackmyre were sewn. She smiled prettily as she gave it to him, and so he tied it around his arm.

They pushed off, leaving the bizarrely yet brilliantly disguised floating hill that was The Myrehill and it's occupants behind them, soon vanished in the swamp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to stay true to the books in that the Reeds aren't the only house in the Neck, and I simply adore Valyrian Steel for whatever reason, and those two facts basically shaped this chapter.
> 
> Oh, and I'm really sorry about the fact that I can't stick to a schedule. So yeah, sorry.
> 
> Oh, and if you've noticed that the chapters seem quite short, that's because they are. I sometimes struggle to find a good amount of words in a chapter at the start of my stories, but they tend to lengthen out eventually once I get to the heart of things. All in good time.


	3. To White Harbour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just what it says on the tin. Kennet travels to White Harbour.

Howland Reed had been every bit as hospitable as Darion Blackmyre. Along with more supplies, a bed for the night, and a meal at his own table, he had given Kennet information on the state of things in the North.

Both Roose Bolton and his bastard had betrayed their people, Ramsay Snow having attacked men of Winterfell and Torrhen's Square at a supposed peace, killing Ser Rodrik Cassel, as well as the young Cerwyn lord. Not to mention the marriage, rape, and abandonment of the Lady Donella Hornwood.

The Watch had sent a Ranging North, investigating the disappearances of both their men and Wildlings. The latest message was that the ravens had returned, message-less, but none of the men. Howland knew not if Jon Stark was there. They could only hope Kennet could reach the place as fast as possible.

It was two days he took to get out of the Marshes, on the same pontoon as he started out with, Calwyn and Ulmerr beside him. They spoke of their families and he spoke of his. Mostly, they paddled, and he tried his hand too; they quickly took back the offer, saying that he made far too much noise.

Kennet thought it best to agree.

They had left him at the edges of the Neck, past Moat Cailin. Calwyn pointed him to the nearest town, Ulmerr told him to take care, and to restore the North it's strength. They vanished from view soon after, as he too left the border of their homes.

Howland had also given Kennet some money, enough to buy a horse at a village on the way to White Harbour. He had done so, a fresh young garron, and he soon crossed the Kingsroad heading east to White Harbour, the Northern trade city.

The garron, named Tor, short for Torrhen, was quieter company than Calwyn, who was always asking questions, and less opinionated than Ulmerr, who was always answering them no matter who they were addressed to. Kennet found he enjoyed the quiet nature of the trek more than he had enjoyed much else recently.

The wide plains of the North that he had always loved were spread before him once again. Their charm far outweighed the woods and streams of the Riverlands, which enclosed you; and certainly hostile mountains of the Westerlands could never match up. The North was wild, the North was free and the North was refreshing in it's vastness.

He rejoiced in breathing it's air again, in the wind on his skin, in what hope he had.

But Kennet knew that the North had it's problems, and they needed solving. The Bolton troops had sacked Winterfell and Ramsay Snow was nowhere to be found but at the Dreadfort, not taken for a thousand years. Not to mention whatever was going on North of the Wall, against the Watch.

But the first thing to do, if they were to have a hope of rectifying the situation, would be to unite the North under the banner of the King. And if Jon Stark was at the Wall, getting to him and convincing him to fight was the first priority.

Of course, ensuring that the North had the men and the soldiers needed to fight would be necessary too. And it was for both of those reasons that White Harbour was the best place to go; a ship to Eastwatch and ravens around the North, and many of their problems might be solved in quick succession.

The process would start with the Manderlys.

He camped within sight of the sea, on the second night. As it turned out, White Harbour was only a few miles away, and he trotted through the gate with Tor bright and early, heading for the market. The guards had let him through, despite his weapons, when he convinced them that he was indeed a loyal Northman of Karhold.

White Harbour was a trade city, through-and-through. Tradesmen of all kinds came from all over the North to buy and to sell. Merchants could operate there better than in any other Northern area. It bustled with activity on most any day; today, however, a sour mood hung over the faces of the merchants and of the stall holders, and the citizens were unhappy too.

He'd received a few odd looks , outfitted as he was; spear, longsword, shortsword, armour clinking in the saddlebags, so Kennet rode to the dockside by following the backstreets and bypassing the busy markets. Once there, he turned Tor and rode the wide seafront, looking for merchants, sailors, or captains he knew, to find out the reason for the dour mood.

He didn't see someone he knew, as it turned out; someone he knew saw him first.

"Kennet? Kennet!" Kennet's head snapped to the side and a smile flew to his face.

"Patrek Stonefrost," he stated, turning Tor sharply so he could face his friend, "still lounging around brothels rather than fighting the war, I see."

"One finds me at waterfronts, one find brothels at waterfronts. I'm a captain; I needs must stay near my ship, but I needs must talk to land-dwellers too. Coincidence." The stout man with the short black hair and hooked nose strode forwards, clapping Tor on the neck to reassure him as Kennet stroked the horse. "Speaking of wars," Patrek said, "weren't you supposed to be fighting? And if you aren't any more, have you heard the news from the south?"

Kennet frowned. "If that's the news I think it is, that has the city wrapped in grief, then aye. I have." He sighed. "I have a lot to explain, but I needs must speak to Lord Wyman, soon. Do you know how I might do so, my friend?"

"Lord Wyman's son and heir is dead, alongside the Young Wolf and uncounted others. He will want to be left alone, as far as I can work out." Patrek sighed. "Mayhaps I can arrange something. Mayhaps not. I want to speak to you first though. There's an inn next to my ship. Tie the horse at the inn and drink on the ship."

"The _Stone Maiden_?"

"The very same. Come on," Patrek said, "we'll talk on board."

* * *

The Stonefrosts descended from the Vale of Arryn as of about two hundred years ago, a particular time period during which the Lord Cole Arryn was rumoured to be far less honourable than the Arryn words implied. When Patrek's ancestors had moved North, they'd attached the suffix -frost, but still enjoyed occasionally claiming their lordly ancestry.

They were merchants, owners of two ships, one of which, the _Stone Maiden_ , Patrek commanded; the other, the _Frost Maiden_ , was captained by his brother, Hawick.

Kennet knew the family through his father, Tristan, who was a relatively wealthy merchant operating out of Karhold. However, he also spent time elsewhere, particularly Widow's Watch for whatever reason, and would often leave Kennet in charge of continuing the business, trading, and so forth.

It meant that he'd spent a lot of time talking to people like Patrek, as he was now, and had become good friends with him rather than just occasional business partners.

And this was strictly business.

* * *

"I drew guard duty, that night at the Twins, guarding the King's tent. When the Freys started to fire on the troops, I knew they'd betrayed us; I took any documents I could from the tent and escaped the flames that were almost surrounding me. I headed North, read the documents, went via the Crannogmen past Moat Cailin. The Crannogmen gave me money for a horse, but that's not the important bit. Read this. It's essentially King Robb's will."

Kennet removed the parchment from his bag and slid it carefully across the table. Patrek picked it up.

"I will say this now; Lord Manderly needs to see this. The future of the North depends on it."

Patrek was already reading. Kennet waited for the response. It was not long in coming.

"We have a King again," stated Patrek Stonefrost. "We have a fight to be fought. You will have your audience with Lord Manderly. A man who trusts me meets with Wyman tomorrow. He shall take us with him." Patrek stood. "I'll make the arrangements. You find a proper stable for that horse and have a drink or a woman. Relax. I'll meet you here at nightfall, or earlier."

Kennet found a stable, not fifty metres from the seafront, and paid a few silver Stags for the day and the night, but had no inclination to pay for a woman. He had little money as it was without wasting it on something he would not enjoy. He'd left his weapons in Patrek's cabin on the Stone Maiden, besides his knife and the King's dagger, as well as the documents; most of the day remained.

He spent an hour or so inquiring around the harbour as to the whereabouts of his father, and received various replies; from "Karhold, last I heard, 'bout a month ago" to "Widow's Watch again, lad, since last week at least" to "He was here three weeks ago!"

Kennet knew that their ship, the _Shadowcat_ , was not in the bay; her distinctive black hull and sails striped grey-white would stand out in any port, though she tended to arrive at night. Though he had been taught how to trade, and how to fight, by his father, sailing was the skill that Tristan had not passed on.

Most of the remainder of the day Kennet spent wandering the city, the marketplaces, speaking to people and browsing goods, though he brought nothing.

A short while before sunset, Kennet walked down to the harbour again. He clambered onto the sea wall that blocked the waves from the harbour, keeping in careful contact with the wall at all times. He sat, slowly, surely, and watched the waves.

When the wind grew more blustery, and Kennet's ears and nose felt the cold sea wind, he slid back down to the dock and slowly walked back to the _Stone Maiden_.

"Kennet!" Patrek grinned, "Good to know I didn't imagine you. Anyway, it's agreed. We're seeing Manderly. Tomorrow. Best get some sleep."

"Yes," Kennet said, but his mind was elsewhere. "Patrek, would you know where my father is?"

Patrek shrugged. "If in doubt, Widow's Watch. That's how it goes."

Kennet nodded, but did not say a word. His father was mysteriously stuck in his ways, as well as stubborn, and cunning in his own style. He had a way of making things turn out well for him that was uncanny. And Kennet could never really work him out; his past unknown, his methods the same, but he was loved, and that was what truly mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say about this one. At first glance - to me - it looked like this chapter was largely filler, but then, it's a while since I wrote this, and I have since realised that it has its good points. It establishes characters, mentions others... Provides - in this version at least - a hint as to an unexpected twist which threw a few of my readers on fanfiction.net. Overall, it isn't too bad, in my opinion. Hope you like it, and feel free to tell me what you think!


	4. The Lord of White Harbour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't have too much to say. The true introduction of Wyman Manderly, plotting in a manner similar to the theorised 'Great Northern Conspiracy,' and a bit of backstory. Hope you enjoy!

The merchant Patrek had spoken of was Willhem Mallann, a wealthy merchant, one of the richest in the city, and a friend of the Manderlys for years. He had paid the Stonefrosts well for captaining two of three ships of his that had escaped an attack by pirates, and equally as well for their younger brother, Brynden, who had died particularly valiantly, defending one of the six that had been sunken or taken. It was his payment that allowed them to build the _Stone Maiden_ , his support that gained them some wealth and some status amongst tradesmen and merchants alike.

Kennet's father had been known to resent the man his inherited fortune, though not, Kennet noted, his skills in trading and dealing. Willhem, he said, hadn't had to build business from nothing, hadn't known loss or weakness beforehand, just did as his family always had, not changing it.

Nonetheless, Kennet admired Willhem his skill, and was certainly pleased enough that the merchant was able to gain both himself and Patrek an audience with Wyman Manderly.

"Kennet," Kennet said by way of introduction, when Patrek took him to the man's offices near the dockside.

"Willhem Mallann," said the man with the greying hair and pale face, shaking the proffered hand. "I've heard your name before; your father runs some land-based business from Karhold, does he not?"

"From Kartown, more specifically, but yes. He also does trade by sea-"

"On that Shadowcat of his, yes. Tristan was his name..." Willhem's eyes grew sharp and narrowed. "Any surname, do you know?"

"If so, I have neither heard it used, not been told of it." Willhem nodded.

"Patrek has assured me of both your loyalty and your message's importance to the North, and I have contacted Lord Wyman stating such. He has requested a meeting before the midday meal, if that would be acceptable?"

Kennet glanced to Patrek, who met his gaze, looked back to Willhem, and said, "I believe we may require more time than that, to fully explain the situation."

"Planning for the future would also be required," Kennet put in. "The sooner we act, the more time we have, the better we can organise an utilise our resources."

Willhem glanced from Kennet to Patrek, where his eyes rested. "Then we go now," he said.

* * *

They were admitted soon enough, after a quick message and reply from the gatekeepers to Lord Manderly, and Willhem led the three into the New Castle.

It was not far to the Merman's Court, the hall where Lord Manderly held feasts and court, but they were not meeting there. The servant who'd come to them had stated that Lord Wyman would speak to Willhem in their usual meeting place, which, it appeared, was further from the entrance than Kennet might have liked. However, he did remember the way well; it was simple enough.

Willhem stopped outside a room with guards on the doors, the Merman of Manderly on their chests. They recognised him, and allowed him to knock on the door, wait for an "Enter!" from within, and push open the entrance.

Lord Wyman, as was widely known across Westeros, was a large man. Kennet tried his best to avoid staring at the man's girth, as he would need the best first impression possible if he was to persuade the man adequately to throw his strength behind a new King, when it was not necessarily his obligation to do so.

Kennet kept the scrolls under his arm tightly held as he looked into the eyes of the Lord of White Harbour. As Wyman sat on a wide chair, built for more than one person and with limited space, his calm, assessing eyes scanning the two people he did not know, his eyes had alighted on the parchment several times; much to Kennet's surprise, he had become somewhat possessive over the documents; evidenced well enough by his tightening grip.

He loosened it almost sheepishly.

The room was lavish, to be sure; drapes and fittings, blue, green, and white, hung from the walls; the large amount of furniture, delicately decorated but robustly built, was arranged comfortably around the large room. Wyman's seating place had a table in front of it, on which were arranged several small seafood dishes, but they were to one side, as a small amount of parchment and ink was occupying the rest of the table space.

"Willhem, my good man, would you consider introducing your companions?" Lord Manderly asked, smiling slightly at his friend but his gaze still piercing.

"Certainly, Lord Wyman." Willhem put a hand on Patrek's shoulder. "This is Patrek Stonefrost. He and his brother Hawick captained two of my ships of the three that survived the Lyseni pirate attack three years ago, and their other brother Brynden bravely defended one of the six that sunk. They've been friends and trading allies of mine since, and now own ships of their own.

"He came to my offices yesterday afternoon, stating that a friend of his needed to see you urgently. I agreed, and this morn, met Kennet here, who says he bears something of great importance to the North."

Wyman's eyes turned to Kennet, eyebrows raised. "Kennet, was it?"

"Yes, my Lord," Kennet nodded.

"Would this thing of such importance be the parchment you bear?"

"Indeed, my Lord." Kennet took a breath. "This is as close as any man is like to find to the Will of the King in the North, Robb Stark."

Willhem gasped, Patrek nodded grimly, and Lord Wyman narrowed his eyes. "How did you obtain this?"

"I was at the Twins that night, my Lord, when the Freys betrayed the North. I do not know if you know the details, but you should know that I do not know many of them. I am no knight, no heir, but a merchant's son and a soldier. I drew watch at the King's tent. When the Frey catapults started to fire on the camp, I took what supplies I could from the King's tent and I headed Northward. I also took this." Kennet proffered the document. Wyman took it.

He read fast, narrowing his eyes at the bottom so as to discern the many names written there, and the seals.

"And so you returned here, via the Crannogmen houses of the Neck," Lord Manderly concluded.

"Indeed, my Lord. They were most hospitable; Howland Reed provided me with money for a horse."

"You have read it. You know what it says."

"I know what it means, my Lord Manderly," Kennet stated.

"What does it mean for my son, then, Kennet? What of Ser Wylis Manderly? He is captive at Harrenhal, held hostage to my actions. What of my heir?" Wyman's temper grew short. "If he is to live, I must act as if loyal to the Lannister cause. I cannot support Jon Stark, for fear of the end of my line."

"Then you must act, Lord Manderly," Kennet stated. He removed from under his arm the map of Westeros, that which had been King Robb's. "Give the appearance of loyalty, while galvanising the North to action. The Mountain Clans have expended no strength in this war. Send a raven to the Mormonts, tell them to rally the Mountain Clans in the Stark name. They can take Deepwood Motte and Torrhen's square, alongside the Mormonts themselves, and the Hornwoods, after taking the Motte. I can travel to Eastwatch-by-the-sea by sea, from this harbour, and inform King Jon."

"The Lannisters soon will surely request my allegiance in return for my son. And so I declare loyalty to the Lannisters, later send word of some false victory, or pretend to collaborate with the Boltons, and, with luck, receive back my son. Is that what you would have me do? Gamble with Wylis's life?"

"Have you a choice?"

Wyman's eyes narrowed, but there was a glint in them. "That was the right reply. You are correct, Kennet. I have no choice." He sighed. "I have now eight-and-thirty warships, both in the inner harbour and hidden up the White Kinfe. You can have your pick of them, to take you to Eastwatch. Would you do so?"

"I would wait for that journey, my Lord, until we would have some strength to show more than words, such as a promise of alliance from the Umbers, or the Manderlys, and likely the Karstarks too," Kennet counselled.

"A fine idea, but the journey to Eastwatch is long, and any time that could be cut from it would only be to our advantage. Were you to wait, perhaps, at some midway point on the coast which a raven could be sent to, much time would be spared."

Kennet considered. "I have not seen my father in a year or more, my Lord. I have been told," he said, glancing at Patrek, "that the likelihood is that he is at Widow's Watch or Karhold."

Lord Wyman nodded. "Both of those are useful middle points. As it will not cost time, attempt to find your father and make your location known to the Lord or Lady of the castle, stating my name if needed, so as they can give you any messages. You should be ready at any point to leave for Eastwatch."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Would you be prepared to leave tomorrow? I would require time to compose letters and think on logistics with both this document in my hands and also your seemingly keen brain well placed to help. Is that agreeable to you, Kennet?" the large Lord asked.

"Indeed it is, Lord Manderly-"

"However, my Lord, you need not trouble yourself with sending one of your own ships," Patrek spoke up for the first time. "My _Stone Maiden_ is prepared to take an old friend along."

Willhem jumped in, too; "No need to reduce your own income, Patrek; one of my ships would suffice, I'm sure."

"Stop trying to martyr yourselves. My ships lie idle; their crews need sea experience. One of them will do," Lord Wyman smiled thinly. "Though the offers are appreciated."

"I thank you for your assistance, my Lord," Kennet said. "I should inform you, however, that once I reach either Widow's Watch or Karhold, whichever my father is in, I should like to continue on my way in the _Shadowcat_ , our family's ship."

"A reasonable wish, to be sure," Lord Wyman stated. "And one that will weaken White Harbour's seaward defences for a smaller duration, but perhaps a less safe one for yourself, as your document should be the priority. Is this _Shadowcat_ a warship?"

Kennet shook his head. "Perhaps you would have remarked on it, had you seen it in harbour, my Lord. She is a lightweight and speedy vessel, capable of outrunning most other ships on the seas. She is painted black, with vertical, grey stripes; certainly distinctive, but no warship."

"Why, then, would you travel on her rather than in greater, less-distinctive safety?" Wyman's eyes were perceiving again, narrowed.

"None will think anything of a trading ship that travels most of the North's east coast regularly. Many would make a fuss over the presence of warships, and you would likely come under some suspicion as a result."

Wyman nodded. "Then I think perhaps you should take up your friend Patrek's offer. Best be as inconspicuous as possible, no? And I can pay back any potential losses on both your parts; such is the least I should do for the King."

Both Patrek and Kennet nodded. "My Lord," Patrek said, Kennet echoing the words too.

"Good," said Manderly. "Patrek Stonefrost, I suggest you go forth and prepare your ship for sail tomorrow. You may go." Patrek bowed slightly, nodded silently to both Kennet and Willhem, and quietly left the room.

"Willhem," Lord Manderly continued, "your assistance in arranging this meeting is appreciated. You may go."

"Thank you, Wyman," Willhem Mallann said, bowing to the Lord and nodding to Kennet. "It was my pleasure."

"Oh, and Willhem?" said Lord Wyman. "I trust you shall not speak of this conversation elsewhere?"

"I shall not, my Lord; I swear it, by the old gods and the new." Wyman nodded, and Willhem left.

"Kennet," said Wyman, "sit." He gestured to the chair across from him.

Kennet, taken aback somewhat, hesitated before he strode over to the seat and sat slowly, meeting Wyman's eyes.

The Lord's eyes were honest, now; grief was present, but so was a little bit of hope. "I would like to thank you, Kennet, on behalf of the whole North. Your tidings have brought hope at my moment, however brief, of despair."

"Thank you for your kind words, my Lord," was the only response Kennet could come up with.

"I would hope, Kennet, that your loyalty to the King is your main motivation in bringing this document to me; however, you need not doubt that you should be adequately rewarded, should you so wish."

"My loyalty is to the North more so than to anything else, my Lord besides perhaps my father. That would be why I did not leave Robb Stark's cause after the execution of Lord Karstark, as many other men from Karhold did. Such abandonment did not favour the cause of independence, merely that of petty revenge."

"That is good to hear," the Lord of White Harbour said. "Tell me, you wouldn't happen to know anything about Jon Stark, would you, besides the contents of this document?" Manderly held the document in question, the will, out to Kennet.

Kennet took it. "Very little... besides that, as I recall, when I visited Wintertown whilst exploring the North, I heard a jest that the 'bastard of Winterfell looked more Stark than the trueborn heir.' Little more was said than that." Kennet shrugged.

He had been eighteen then, just two years past, and had with his father's backing decided to travel across the Northern subcontinent. He had visited most of the regions barring Bear Island, and even had visited the Shadow Tower at the Wall.

It was then that he'd developed his love of riding and of camping; his father still had the tent, somewhere, and the horse he'd used, a three-year-old black garron mare named Tara, still belonged to their family, the only horse kept purely for leisure and travel rather than the transporting of goods over land.

"Have you travelled much, Kennet?"

"All of the North, but for Bear Island."

"Have you seen the Dreadfort? In all it's feared strength?"

"Aye."

"Unless the Boltons take Winterfell before loyal Northmen can garrison it, it will be out biggest obstacle. Would you have any suggestions on the process of taking it?"

Kennet frowned almost sheepishly. "I'm no battle strategist. I can fight well enough, I can speak, I can write, but I couldn't tell you how to flank an army or siege a fortress, merely why it should be done or when." He shrugged. "I don't think I'm the man to solve that particular problem, my Lord."

Manderly nodded. "No matter. We have others skilled in those areas in the North."

"Indeed."

"Now, I would not have my Maester copy these documents and write my letters to the Northern Lords; he is a Lannister, through and through, chain or no. You have said you can write, Kennet; I would keep you here for today, that you and I could go over the details, and dictate and write these letters; would that be acceptable?"

Kennet nodded sharply. "Certainly, my Lord."

Wyman smiled. "Good. For now, though, to the midday meal. I would have you sit at the high table, amongst my household, if you would like."

"My Lord, it would be an honour," Kennet said, but Lord Manderly had seen his surprise and laughed.

"It certainly won't be the last time you sup with lords and ladies, if this plan of ours comes off," he pointed out jovially.

"I would expect not, Lord Manderly," Kennet said wryly, "but it would be the first in any case."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, plot continues. Things will happen, there's soon to be a Lannister Maester to consider, and the next stage of the journey is soon to commence. I've corrected some grammar in this chapter, but nothing serious or extreme, and I've tried to clarify a few phrases to make the meanings clearer. Feel free to tell me what you think! I'll try to get a few more chapters up soon!


	5. The Manderlys of White Harbour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diplomacy and so on. Talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!

In the Merman's Court, Kennet was sat next to Ser Marlon Manderly, a tall man with grey eyes and beard who commanded the garrison at White Harbour, and his son, Ser Mandon, a young man, shorter than his father and a few years older than Kennet, who was following in his father's footsteps serving in the garrison.

The food was rich, and tasted good besides; Kennet could see now, in part, why Lord Wyman was so large; it seemed reasonable that if you ate a lot, more would be left behind as it passed through you.

He ignored Maester Theomore, who was to the other side of Ser Marlon, throughout the meal, as the Maester ignored him. Lord Wyman had introduced Kennet as "a man who, surely through the will of the gods, by great good fortune escaped the Twins and made it here, to safety," and that was enough to sate the curiosity of most of the household.

It didn't sate Ser Mandon's curiosity on him, however, which was why it was next to him that Kennet sat.

He and Kennet conversed on the subjects of wars and weapons, of how the latter could be used in the former, and, briefly, on the subject of women.

That branch of the conversation had swiftly halted when Kennet pointed out the fact that both Wynafryd and Wylla Manderly had been listening in on them from across the table.

Wynafryd had a long, Northern braid, while Wylla's hair was dyed an odd bright green colour. Wynafryd, the elder, was tall and dignified, while Wylla was more spirited and passionate, Kennet observed.

The food was nothing short of delicious, better than any cuisine Kennet had eaten since riding South. Salty seafood, for the most part, including fish and seaweed, though there were also some pork and vegetable dishes too.

Kennet held himself back from eating too much, fearful of being rude, but tried as many dishes as he could, and found he particularly liked the pork, which was succulent and juicy.

The meal ended soon enough, Ser Mandon declaring that he was off to the yard to train and asking Kennet to join him, which Kennet had to refuse, stating that he had some small business to attend to, and that once it was done he would attempt to join Mandon, and try his hand. It was a long time since his sword was drawn last, while fighting for the Crag as he recalled.

By the time he had turned back to the table, Lord Wyman was leaving, and so Kennet bid farewell to Ser Marlon and Ser Mandon, nodded respectfully to Wynafryd as she met his eyes, and left the hall.

A servant met him and guided him to Lord Manderly's solar, where the Lord himself awaited.

"My Lord," Kennet said upon entering.

"Kennet," replied Manderly. "I believe the first order of business here is to review again the terms of Robb Stark's will. A full copy of the terms should be created, in the case of the loss of the original, but I trust few in this castle or even city with the information. Thus, three of the loyal members of my household have been summoned here, two to copy out additional parchments and one to work with us on summarising our ravens to the appropriate Northern Lords and Ladies, as well as writing them out. They should be here shortly."

Kennet nodded in response.

Less than a minute later, during which time Kennet sat and unfurled the Royal Decree which lay on the table, there was a knock on the door, and a voice was heard; "Ser Marlon Manderly, Ser Mandon Manderly, and the Lady Wynafryd Manderly request entrance, milord."

"Open the door," called Lord Wyman.

Lady Wynafryd, Lord Manderly's eldest granddaughter and Ser Wylis's firstborn, led the two knights into the room and greeted both Lord Wyman and Kennet politely, but in an inquisitive manner.

Ser Marlon narrowed his eyes at Kennet, bowed to Lord Wyman, and sat down next to the Lord of White Harbour.

Ser Mandon, who Kennet had sat next to in the Merman's Court, greeted his Lord and looked curiously at Kennet, before sitting next to him again, while Wynafryd placed herself neatly in a nearby chair.

"Marlon, Mandon, and Wynafryd, you are here because, as you all know, I trust you with important information. Kennet is not simply a soldier who escaped the twins."

The focus in the room turned to Kennet, who breathed deeply and met their eyes. Marlon looked suspicious, while Wynafryd was curious, and Mandon similarly inquisitive.

"He also brought with him the document you see before you now," Lord Manderly continued. "Kennet, if you would perchance read it aloud?"

Kennet reached for the parchment he knew so well, lifting it before him. He lowered it before he began reading, and explained, "I found this in the tent of Robb Stark, which I was guarding at the time of the Freys' betrayal."

He cleared his throat and began.

"In the name of Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell, King in the North and King at the Trident, trueborn son of Eddard Stark, and with the full recognition and support of the Lords and houses whose seals are affixed, the man known as Jon Snow, natural-born son of Eddard Stark, is hereby legitimised and named the heir of the King in the North and the King of the Trident."

Mandon's eyes lit up, Wynafryd gasped lightly, and Marlon leant forwards. Kennet continued.

"Should Robb Stark, the King in the North and the King at the Trident, fall, in battle or sickness, in the absence of any male son by Queen Jeyne Westerling, Jon Stark, formerly Jon Snow, will be recognised and acknowledged by the Lords stated as their King."

Wynafryd leant back to listen, hope and a dawning apprehension both on her face.

"Any vows he has sworn to the contrary, whether to the Night's Watch or any other party, are hereby revoked by this Royal Decree."

Ser Marlon's eyes narrowed, and he sighed lightly. Ser Mandon's gaze was still intense.

"The mentioned party, Jon Stark, is hereby summoned to the side of the King in the North and the King at the Trident, Robb Stark."

Some degree of sadness entered the countenances of the Manderlys there, understandably so.

"All parties sworn to the King in the North and the King of the Trident are to see that this decree is enforced, by any and all means necessary, preferably supplying the Night's Watch with men and food supplies as compensation for the summoning of Jon Stark from their most esteemed and recognised ranks."

Ser Marlon gritted his teeth at that. "We can ill afford to lose men, nor supplies."

"We can ill afford to lose a King, father," Ser Mandon countered. "Not another. There are already far too few Starks and too many Boltons in the North. For shame that we worry about supplies in this situation!"

"Then losing the men is the problem," countered Ser Marlon.

"You have heard of the state of things at the Wall recently. If Wildlings overrun the Wall and Boltons Winterfell, would you send men then?"

"I do not mean to complain of the necessity of such an action," Ser Marlon stated. "I simply disapprove of the weakening of our defences, however temporary."

"Father-"

"Sers," said Wynafryd, "this argument is pointless. On the Wall, Jon Stark is one man and a hundred would be of more use. Off the Wall, Jon Stark is a King, and a King is worth a thousand men. Some small garrison and supplies would be a small price to pay for independence."

"The Lady speaks it true," said Kennet. "We have larger issues to consider."

"Correct," Lord Manderly put in. "I shall need you all to cooperate in total secrecy if we are to both successfully restore the North a King and appear to work well enough for the Lannisters that we can bargain for the safe return of Ser Wylis. I trust you all should operate in such secrecy entirely at my discretion. Do you all agree?"

A nod from Ser Marlon, a word of affirmation from Ser Mandon, and a "Naturally" from Wynafryd were his responses, before Kennet realised they were looking to him next.

"Of course, my Lord," Kennet stated hurriedly. "Have I not said so previously?"

"Indeed you have." Manderly sighed. "To business, then. I should like to have two more copies of this document made, word for word, in case of incident with the original. Ser Marlon, Ser Mandon, there are parchments and ink on the desks to the side, I do believe." It was no request.

Both knights left, but neither took the parchment. Lord Wyman slid a small parchment and ink across to Kennet. "Could you summarise it for us, briefly, before those two remember that they have to copy from the document themselves?"

"I know it well enough myself already, my Lord," confessed Kennet, "I had little and less to do on the road, besides read it and think about it, that is."

"Good. Marlon!" called Lord Wyman, rolling and holding up the document as he did so. "You shall need this."

Ser Marlon fetched it, looking sheepish. Behind him, Ser Mandon almost choked holding in a laugh.

Kennet wrote.

_Robb Stark legitimises his bastard half-brother, Jon Snow, now Jon Stark._

_Jon Stark is now the heir of Robb Stark, if Robb Stark's wife has no son by him._

_Any vows made by Jon Stark contrary to this declaration are revoked._

_Jon Stark is summoned to Robb Stark's side._

_All bannersmen to Robb Stark are to ensure that this declaration is enforced, and requested to compensate the Night's Watch accordingly._

"That will do," stated Lord Wyman.

"Grandfather," Wynafryd said, "might I ask why my presence is required here?"

"Indeed you might, Wynafryd," Lord Manderly said.

Wynafryd smiled slightly. "Why would my presence be required here?"

"Your diplomatic ability should be useful, in the next task of ours," Lord Manderly said. "Ravens must be sent. To Bear Island and to Last Hearth."

"Maester Theomore must be bypassed, then," commented Wynafryd.

"Indeed," Lord Wyman stated, "And I am slowly working on that problem. But that is for later."

"These messages... Are they notices of action that should be taken, or of the cause of Jon Stark?"

"Both," Lord Manderly said assuredly. "Letters are to go to the Mormonts and the Umbers. Riders should also be sent to search out loyal men in the Rills, the Stony Shore, and the Hornwood lands. However, these are not to know of the King, but to simply gather and attempt to sweep the Ironborn from that area of coast, from the top of the Neck to the southernmost points of the Wolfswood. If they can take ships whole, they must."

"And what of Deepwood Motte, and the ravens to the Mormonts and Umbers?"

"The letter to the Umbers," Manderly explained, "needs must be particularly delicate and thought out. We must explain to them that their revenge cannot be instant, and nor can the rescue of the Greatjon, still captive at the Twins. We should tell them that reinforcing the Wall with men is likely to be a necessity, in order to better unify the North, and we should tell them that they may be needed in some capacity to stabilise the Karstarks."

"The Karstarks? How so?" Kennet inquired.

"The Karstark line should continue with Alys, the daughter of the late Lord Karstark, after the capture of his son Harrion. However, Arnolf, her uncle and Castellan, as well as his sons, are in control. Arnolf has always been possessive, and I would fear for their honest allegiance."

"But how exactly would the Umbers help that situation?" Wynafryd inquired. "Contacting Alys on the situation, I would presume, and perhaps even removing her from Karhold, in the interest of her safety?"

"Precisely that. I would presume that she would be able to make a more informed decision than we ever could, and a message from the nearest castle barring the Dreadfort is the best we can provide her with currently."

"And the Mormonts?" Wynafryd asked.

"That particular message, and his idea regarding it, would be why Kennet is here," Wyman stated.

Taking the hint, Kennet spoke. "The mountain clans never marched South with the Young Wolf, and the Mormonts are the closest friendly group to the Wolfswood that we can message by raven. They must rally the mountain clans, march south, and take Deepwood Motte from the Ironborn, leaving only Moat Cailin in Ironborn hands, if the troops the messengers gather can expel them from Torrhen's Square and the southwest shoreline."

Lord Manderly nodded, as did Wynafryd. "So," Wyman said, "we shall work on the letter to the Mormonts first, as it is the most directly urgent. Wynafryd," he said, turning to his granddaughter as he placed a pot of ink next to a roll of parchment, "how would you suggest we begin the main passage?"

All three of them talked as best they could, which, in Kennet's case, went surprisingly well, on the correct way of phrasing a revelation such as theirs, as the sound of quills scratching behind them continued haltingly as the knights listened in too.


	6. Farewells.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kennet leaves White Harbour. Also, there is a duel, and a bit of sailing, and a sighting of a destination.

Later that same day, once the letters had been completed to the best of the abilities of the three who'd wrote them and spoke on their contents, the group had dispersed more.

Lady Wynafryd had left to find her sister, Ser Marlon had left to arrange for the riders to be sent through Hornwood lands, the Rills, the Barrowlands, and the Stony Shore, and Lord Wyman was arranging a method of sending the ravens without the knowledge of Maester Theomore.

Kennet and Ser Mandon, however, had found their way to the courtyard.

Mandon told Kennet where the armoury was, and sent him off to find something that would fit, but was surprised by the result.

Kennet had entered the room an searched through a great deal of armour, mainly plate armour, all too heavy and bulky and cumbersome. Near the back, however, was a hauberk of chain, similar to those Kennet had worn previously. He also took a plain helmet that would not obscure his vision, and a leather undercoat to stop the hauberk rubbing his skin painfully.

He exited the building to meet Ser Mandon, as expected, in full plate armour, head to toe.

"Chain?!" Mandon cried jokingly. "That armoury houses some fine plate, of many sizes, and you choose chain mail?"

"Hauberks have saved my life," Kennet grinned. "Plate slows a man too much to allow the showing of skill."

"It's your funeral," Mandon smirked, leading Kennet to find tourney swords they could spar with.

Mandon headed immediately for a large blunted longsword, while Kennet searched, finding one sword of middling length - as long as his arm - and taking a small shortsword in his left hand.

They headed calmly to the centre of the courtyard, Ser Mandon questioning Kennet over his equipment choices again.

"Didn't you mention that you soldiers were issued spears, shields, and longswords each?" When Kennet nodded, Mandon continued, "And how does that work with a middling sword and a shortsword, might I ask?"

"In his spare time, when I was younger, my father would train me in the use of weapons such as these. I managed in the army to convert those skills to use of a longsword well enough, but I want to see if I'm still up to standard."

"Then prepare yourself," Ser Mandon stated, as they reached a wide, empty space.

Ser Mandon slid his visor down, and raised his longsword to roughly Kennet's eye level. In reply, Kennet brought his shortsword in front of himself diagonally, swinging his right shoulder back and levelling the sword in that hand at his opponent.

Ser Mandon made the first move.

The knight stepped forwards, two-handed slash heading for Kennet's leading left shoulder. Kennet leant backwards, twisted to avoid the blade, and used the twist to step and lunge with the larger sword. Mandon trotted back sharply, deflecting the blow as he did so.

A brief pause followed the opening flurry, as Kennet did not press, instead withdrawing and circling the White Harbour knight slowly.

Ser Mandon was more cautious now. For a while he simply edged closer to Kennet, who remained calm. Then, the taller man struck.

It was a forceful, fast, and hacking blow, which Kennet dodged, before, in the second Mandon took to regain balance, he attacked.

Kennet made two rapid steps forwards, followed by a downwards hack to the tip of Mandon's blade with the shortsword and a diagonal slash upwards which connected near the hilt, disarming the knight. Kennet continued the slash around, ducking, and managing to avoid the punch Ser Mandon had thrown his way. He extended the shortsword outwards as he completed the turn, hitting the plate at the side of Mandon's ribs, as he levelled the other sword at his throat, finding the small gap where the neck was exposed.

"Victory," Kennet declared.

"Rematch," Mandon demanded.

"Naturally," Kennet agreed.

This time, Ser Mandon was more careful. He did not attack first, instead glancing over Kennet's defences as the two circled one another. When Kennet stepped in, sword slicing and bringing the shortsword up for a slash as well, Mandon timed his deflection of the sword and hack at the shortsword to perfection, disarming Kennet of the smaller and forcing him to roll to his right, finding his footing and clutching his sword defensively.

The match was far from over. Mandon advanced with confidence, while Kennet backed away and tracked to the right, playing to his stronger side and to Mandon's. They progressed like that for a while, almost making a full circle, before Mandon realised that Kennet was next to the shortsword again and charged in response, his blade raised for a mighty swing.

Kennet stepped back for a second before pouncing forwards, catching Marlon by surprise. The large knight couldn't readjust his swing enough, but Kennet's blade didn't find a gap in the plate, simply glancing off, and Mandon's arms smashed him to the side as the sword was brought around.

This time, Kennet couldn't hold on to his sword, and Ser Mandon had the long blade at his neck in an instant.

"Rematch?" Kennet suggested.

"Certainly," grinned Mandon.

A voice erupted from the side of the courtyard, cheering for Mandon and congratulating him for winning. Upon turning, Kennet saw that Wylla Manderly had been cheering, but now Wynafryd was hushing her sister, though she applauded as she did so.

"I wonder," Kennet said loudly to Mandon, "what Wylla would say if she'd seen you lose the first match? And what she'll say when she sees you lose the third?"

Mandon grinned, leaned in, and whispered, "I'm not sure Wylla's the one whose opinion you're worried about!"

Kennet snorted quietly at that, shaking his head silently as he collected the swords. Mandon was right only in the fact that Kennet was concerned about the opinions of influential figures within White Harbour and how they could affect his life, but the implication that he was interested in Wynafryd... He respected her, but was not attracted to her.

His concentration returned to facing Ser Mandon, stance slightly more offensive this time; right foot and sword forwards with the shortsword down by his side, pointing forwards. He was only a few short paces away from Mandon, and when the knight began to raise his sword, Kennet took one of those paces rapidly.

The shortsword swung , upwards, outwards, and diagonally, driving the longsword upwards, outwards, and with it Mandon's defences. Kennet's right sword rested just underneath Ser Mandon's visor, and the knight dropped his sword dramatically.

Wynafryd applauded again, while Wylla's gasp was easily audible.

Mandon smirked slightly. "You fight like a cat," he commented.

"How so?" Kennet frowned.

"A claw in each paw, so to speak, and you wait for your chance - or create a chance - before pouncing."

Kennet considered it. "That would be a fair enough comparison to make, I suppose." He raised his blades again. "Best out of five?"

"Best of eleven, I say," Ser Mandon countered, and Kennet nodded.

It was fortunate for Ser Mandon that he had said best of eleven, for Kennet won the next two matches. In the first, he tripped Mandon with his longer sword as the knight swung horizontally towards him, and for the second, he'd slid behind a charging Mandon, closed in, grabbed his shoulder and put the shortsword to his throat.

However, Mandon won the next, with a slash that the chain and leather cushioned and deflected, but still launched Kennet to the floor.

Mandon won the next after that, hitting through a weak block with the shortsword and propelling Kennet around, as the knight continued spinning and had to stop the blow at the last second or risk breaking an arm of Kennet's. Kennet conceeded the match.

Mandon won the next after that, too, bruising Kennet's stomach in the process and taking the score level.

Mandon lost the next match, however, as Kennet ran a ring or two around the sweltering fighter, who was sweating in his armour, to hit the back of Mandon's helm with his larger sword's hilt.

It was five to four, but the next fight lasted longer.

Kennet, on the balls of his feet, began by circling again, switching directions fast whenever Mandon got close. The knight was tired, he noticed, the heavy plate detrimental to speed and stamina. Kennet backed away at varying speeds, but Mandon didn't take the bait.

They ended up to the side of the courtyard as Kennet allowed Ser Mandon some breathing space, but Mandon surprised him with a quick rush and powerful swing that Kennet wasn't prepared for, causing him to lose the longer sword.

Tossing the shortsword from palm to palm, Kennet backed away towards the centre of the yard. Mandon's longsword began to look particularly foreboding as Kennet drew his opponent into the open again.

A few rapid attacks put Mandon on the back foot, however, Kennet swinging and slashing from all angles, but the knight stayed all the blows, even if he returned few. With utmost concentration Kennet attempted to trick his opponent, feet nimble, turning and halting the turns, blocking his opponent's arm rather than the sword, staying up close and under Ser Mandon's guard.

He jumped a sweep of Mandon's foot, and got his sword in front of the sword's sweeping, close blow, but the momentum of the strike threw him to the side.

He came up, shimmied left, spun right while crouching to dodge the blow as it turned diagonal, and, rather than lunging, stepped forwards, and swept Mandon's legs from under him with a sharp kick. Mandon fell to his knees. Kennet's sword met his neck.

"I yield," Mandon panted, shaking his head and removing his helm. "By the Warrior, that was a good fight!"

"It was a good fight," Kennet agreed, holding his hand out to Mandon, pulling the other man up when he grasped it. "Do you now see the weakness of plate?"

"In single combat, perhaps," Ser Mandon stated. "In a pitched battle, I think you would have found it hard to manoeuvre around me so much, and plate would win out."

"Mayhaps it would," Kennet agreed, "but you still chose it for this match over chain."

It was at that point which Wynafryd reached the centre of the courtyard. "Well fought, the both of you; and well won, Kennet. Unfortunately, my sister does not deign to recognise the defeat of a Manderly. Perhaps she shall apologise during the evening meal, if you attend, though it might perchance appear suspicious were you to appear at more than one household meal."

"Indeed, Lady Wynafryd, I doubt I shall be attending. However, if she expresses to you a wish to apologise, she should know that it is accepted," Kennet said.

"If she does, I shall be sure to inform her," Wynafryd smiled, as Mandon patted Kennet on the back and headed off to remove his armour. "I should also like to wish you farewell, and good luck on your journey."

"Let us hope that good luck would not be needed, my Lady," Kennet said. "Though like as not, it will; this is no straightforward journey, nor task."

"My thoughts and my prayers will go with you in this task," Wynafryd stated. "As shall those of all who know of it and wish for the return of a King."

With that, Wynafryd smiled slightly, turned, and left the courtyard.

Kennet deposited the sword and the armour in the appropriate places before finding Ser Mandon again.

"How did that go?" Mandon asked. "Engaged yet?"

Kennet ignored the comment. "I should be leaving the castle soon. Which way is the gate?"

"I'll lead you there," Mandon said. "Where will you be headed after?"

"The _Stone Maiden_ , a ship belonging to a friend of mine," Kennet replied. "It'll be taking me up the coast tomorrow."

Mandon's smile fell slightly. "Headed where?"

"Eastwatch-by-the-sea," Kennet said, glancing around. "The Wall."

"The King," Mandon said, quietly.

Kennet nodded, and Mandon led him to the gate in silence. It was a short walk, however, and when the gate was in sight, Kennet turned to Mandon.

"If you see Lord Wyman, inform him that I will leave with the tide tomorrow, and that if someone could bring the document I gave him to the _Stone Maiden_ before that time I would be extremely grateful," Kennet said.

Ser Mandon nodded. "I'll see to it that he knows. Best of luck, Kennet. I hope to duel you again someday."

"As I hope to beat you again, my friend," Kennet grinned. "Farewell, Mandon."

"Farewell, Kennet."

With that, they parted.

Kennet passed the inner harbour, highly walled as it was, wherein surely lay many of the Manderly warships, passed the markets, and fetched his horse, Tor, from the stables. Patrek Stonefrost welcomed him and Tor aboard with open arms.

Kennet told Patrek that they should leave at the first tide the next day, and Patrek, in fine spirits, explained that he had already received ample compensation from the Manderly coffers, and that they could trade anyway, making a profitable journey a useful one too. Kennet was given a small cabin, Tor a space and a supply of hay above decks, hay which the Stone Maiden's men had brought especially. Kennet's supplies were in the cabin already.

"May we have fine winds and calm seas," Kennet remarked, "or I fear for my four-legged companion's safety."

"If anything happens, you'll have to keep him calm," Patrek said grimly. "The crew'll be too busy ensuring we stay afloat."

Kennet spent some time petting and grooming Tor after that remark, ensuring the garron was happy, before he himself retreated belowdecks to rest.

* * *

High tide would rise by midday, but Kennet woke early, to the sound of some kind of commotion on deck. He yawned, stretched, stood, and was beginning to dress as quickly as he could when Patrek burst into the room.

"Someone to see you," he announced.

"Can they wait until I put a shirt on?" Kennet queried, buttoning his trousers.

"Best not take the risk," Patrek said urgently, but Kennet caught a glint in his eye as he turned and headed for the exit. Nonetheless, Kennet followed, grabbing a shirt as he did so.

He pulled it on as he reached the upper deck, glancing around as he did so. It was not long before he saw the cause of the disruption.

He strode to the side of the ship -port, fittingly - that was facing the dock.

"Lady Wynafryd," he greeted quietly, looking up. She wore a hooded cloak, but he could see her face and recognised her form. The sailors had backed off somewhat.

"Kennet," she said, holding out a hand, which he kissed. She blushed. "I had meant for you to help me onto the ship, but that will do, I suppose." To his mortification, she stepped down herself. The outer harbour was level with the ship at that point, and she stepped easily enough onto a crate before he did manage to help her to the deck from there.

"Did we not say farewell yesterday?" Kennet queried.

"That was after you forgot this," Wynafryd stated, handing Kennet the Royal Decree, which he tucked under an arm. "And before I made you this."

With those words, she drew from a pocket a strip of fabric, which she kept in her hands.

"I remembered what Mandon had said, about you fighting like a cat. And when I returned to my chambers, and picked up a book of Northern history, I recalled something from it, some banner of a house from long ago. I'm not sure it still exists and I forgot it's name, but the banner stood out."

She unfurled the fabric, with the words, "So why not the most Northern cat of all?"

It was a Shadowcat, black with stripes of white, in a grey field. It had eyes of a sharp red and an open, snarling mouth with sharp, pure-white teeth.

Kennet took it from her gently, marvelling at it. "A token?"

"The favour of White Harbour and myself goes with you," she said.

"I shall treasure it, my Lady," Kennet said.

"I hope that you shall," Wynafryd said. "There is one more thing the Lord of White Harbour would have you bring."

"What might that be?" Kennet tilted his head.

Wynafryd smiled. "Ser Mandon."

Kennet glanced up, to see the knight, with a sack that likely contained armour over his shoulder and a longsword at his hip.

Mandon jumped to the deck. The thud he made was loud, and, before he could say a word, Patrek Stonefrost was hurrying over, to inquire as to what was going on.

Fortunately, Wynafryd managed to smooth Patrek's temper over quickly, before departing, saying "Good winds," to Patrek, "Farewell," to Ser Mandon, and "The best of luck," to Kennet.

Kennet replied, "You have my thanks, my Lady," before she left, assisted up to the harbour's edge again by himself and Ser Mandon.

She left with a smile and a wave.

Ser Mandon, it was decided, would share Kennet's cabin, and before long both Patrek and Mandon were pestering Kennet mercilessly over whether or not he liked her, to which he refused to comment, until Patrek had to organise the sailors before they left their mooring. Then it was just Mandon.

Kennet could only evade him when the ship started moving by insisting they go topside and watch the process.

Unfortunately, Mandon started again as soon as they got into clear water, but Kennet simply tuned him out, staring across the sea and thinking on the future.

He'd always admired the sea, in it's uncontrollable nature, it's changes of mood, and now he could only hope that it remained calm for as long as it took them to reach Widow's Watch.

* * *

It should have been a voyage of a day and a half, Patrek had told him at the very beginning, if all went well - as if he didn't know! Despite the clear sky and calm seas, the wind was against them for the first day, and the _Stone Maiden_ , a relatively slow, fat merchant cog, had to tack from side to side to catch enough wind to maintain forward motion.

Over the next night, however, the wind cleared up to a more favourable one. The _Stone Maiden_ wasn't flying, per se, nor heading directly with the wind, but it was satisfactorily fast for Kennet to be confident that they would reach Widow's Watch sometime after the next day, and Patrek said the same.

However, there was a temporary rough spot the next day, too, a quick shower with seas that weren't particularly high, but were still enough to worry Tor. Kennet spent a few hours hooded and wet, comforting the panicked horse.

Little did Kennet know that Ser Mandon, as it turned out, was similarly unsettled by the prospect of a storm at sea, to the point of staying in the cabin and not coming out like everyone else to either man the ropes or comfort a worried animal.

Once the rain cleared up, the rest of that day passed favourably, with good winds, as did the night, and, early the next day, Kennet exited his cabin, hair messy from sleep and Lady Wynafryd's token on his left arm, to see the tall coastal tower with the small port, facing towards the boat, that was Widow's Watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoy writing fight scenes, and this was the first in this story, so I hope you enjoy it! Actually, thinking about it, I should probably do another soon... I mean, there is another coming up and stuff, but no real big battles. So far, at least; in the full version I've avoided mentioning what exactly could have happened after making a lead-up to a potential fight scene. I think I may have to write that up sometime soon.
> 
> Also, I have good news; I got into uni! A-Levels complete, the next chapter in my life is beginning... I don't know quite what to think, but I thought you should know.


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